8. Emery

8

EMERY

I snuggle deeper into the hard warmth that is surrounding me. Something is drawing me awake, but I’m fighting it. I don’t want to lose the comfort I’m feeling right now. I can’t remember waking up so rested. There's an irritating beep, beep, beep, but I'm able to block it out. It isn't until I hear voices that I come fully alert. I blink as I open my eyes and see that I'm lying in bed with Nash, and then it all comes back to me. The doctor is talking, and I'm embarrassed to be found lying in the bed with a patient that has been shot. I'm sure this is against some kind of rules or something.

I struggle to get up, but Nash holds on to me tightly. "Stay, honey.”

I do as he asks so I don't make a scene, and the doctor continues. "The arm should heal nicely, but we're going to go ahead and put you on some antibiotics and something for the pain. The head injury is most worrisome, but I know this is not your first concussion. You'll need someone to make sure that you wake up every hour and that someone stays with you."

Nash’s forehead creases, and frustration is laced in every word he mutters. "I don't need a babysitter."

I look at him. He's one of the strongest men I know, and he hates to ask for help. He's always been this way. A lot of it is the way he grew up. He never had anyone. Since he was a young child, he's had to do everything on his own. Even when we were married, he never would let me share in things that bothered him. He just wanted to take care of it himself. Maybe that was one of our problems. I let him do that.

I put my hand on his chest and crawl it up around his neck. "I'll stay with you. I can take care of you."

He looks at me, surprised, but he nods and then looks at the doctor. "Okay. What else?"

"That's it. You'll need to follow up with your primary care doctor next week. If you have any bad headaches or any changes with your vision or anything, you'll need to come back in, though. Immediately."

"Okay. I can do that."

The doctor holds his clipboard down at his side. He looks at me and then back at Nash. “Can I speak freely?”

“Yes,” Nash says as he spans his hand across my hip. Does he think the doctor is going to say something that will make me run? I hate to admit it, but there’s no way I’m leaving him now. Not until I know he’s really going to be fine. Even then it will be hard letting him go again.

The doctor pulls his clipboard up and starts to read from it. “You’re lucky, Nash. Five concussions, shot twice, broken ribs, and dislocated shoulder... all of that in the last year. If I didn’t know better, I would think you have a death wish.”

I gasp, and my mouth falls open as I stare at Nash. He won’t look at me, though. He grunts at the doctor instead, “I don’t have a death wish. When can I get out of here?”

The doctor opens his mouth and closes it again. Finally, he shakes his head. “Fine. I'll get your discharge papers, and we should get you out of here within an hour."

Nash nods. "Okay. Thanks, Doc."

The doctor walks out the door, and Nash looks at me. "Are you sure you're okay with this? What about the bakery?"

My eyes widen. "The bakery? Nash, you know the girls can handle the bakery without me. You're more important."

He looks surprised and then he clenches his eyes closed as if he just thought of something painful. I put my hand on his cheek. "Are you okay? Is your head hurting?”

He leans his face into my hand as if he is yearning for my touch. When he opens his eyes, I swear there's wetness there. "No, my head's not hurting. You're too good to me, Emery. You always have been. I have so much to make up to you."

I smile and shake my head. "No way, Nash. None of that. We're not going to get into that right now. Let's get you better first.” I point my finger into his chest. “But I promise you this. I’m not forgetting what the doctor just said. You have a lot of explaining to do.”

He doesn’t deny it or try to get out of it. He grabs on to my hand and brings it up to lay over his heart. He holds it there, and I can feel it beating wildly under my palm. I don’t know how, but already, I feel closer to him than in all our years of marriage. He seems to want to open up to me, but I’m not sure he knows how. I clear my throat. “The planner in me is already working things out in my head. Let's get you settled at your house and then I'll run home and pack a bag real quick."

He shakes his head, interrupting me. "No, I can stay at your house. That way, you'll be close to the bakery in case you do need to go in and check on things."

I rear back, surprised. "But you'll be farther from your office."

He shrugs like it doesn't matter. "It'll be fine. I have things covered."

I watch him, waiting. There's something that he's not telling me. I know Nash well enough to know that every thought he has is about a case he's working on or a mission or somebody else with the Ghost Team. But he surprises me by acting as if it's no big deal that he may be off of work for a while.

I lean against him. "Are you sure? I don't want you to have to drive to the compound from my house when yours is closer. I know you're probably not allowed to drive anyway, but I also know that there's no stopping you once you decide to do something."

He shakes his head. "I'm not going to the compound. I'm going to go to our house and rest."

I act like I don’t hear him call it our house and deciding that I better not push it, I change the subject. "Okay, then how are we going to get to the house?"

"Hand me my phone, Emery."

I reach to the table next to the bed, unplug his phone, and hand it to him. I lean over and grab my purse, pulling my phone out too. I completely forgot about Becca. She’s probably freaking out right now.

He starts typing into his. "I'm going to text Walker. He'll have someone pack up my things and come and pick us up and take us home." He looks up from his typing. "Where's your car? Do I need to get somebody to bring it somewhere?"

I shake my head. "No, I was a mess when I got the call. I had Becca and her new boyfriend bring me here."

I open my messaging app to text Becca, but I see a text from her. She sent me a picture of Nash and me in the hospital bed, and I can’t look away. We look cozy and dare I say happy. I read the message. “You looked all right and Walker said Nash was going to be fine now. I left, but call me when you want to come home and I’ll come get you. Love you.”

I text her back. “He’s getting out today. He’s staying at my house and we have a ride. I’ll explain later. Thank you and Lucas again for bringing me here. Love you.”

I put my phone down and watch as Nash pushes the button on the phone to send the text and then lays it down in his lap. "I'm sorry for everything that I've put you through, Emery."

I lift my shoulder and shrug. "It's not your fault that you were shot."

"I don't mean this. I mean everything. There's so many things I need to apologize to you for. There's so many things I need to make up to you."

I lean my head down on his shoulder because the look he's giving me is way too intense. Part of me knows that I need to keep my guard up or else I'm going to be hurt again. "It's fine, Nash. I know you never meant to hurt me. All that matters now is that you're going to be okay."

He puts his lips to my forehead and kisses me there. When he pulls back, his voice is just a whisper. "We are going to be okay."

My heart flipflops in my chest. I wish that was the truth.